An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment
by Chippewa Livingston
Summary: Two of Manticore's pampered pure-breds find out about the real world. Can they finish what they started? COMPLETE STORY
1. Building a persona

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Host   
  
The memories are people, places, events but mostly numbers- barcodes. There's a wide range of colors from the deep black of apathy to the glaring white hot of pain and a thousand shades of gray between. There were a lot of problems too, with complicated solutions. Those were solved with simple orders that didn't really solve anything. They are full of cold surfaces, hard edges and no emotion... unless you count fear as emotion.   
  
Eventually the chain of memories starts to dissolve into numbers, strings and strings of numbers. The numbers are people with names and faces but always the   
numbers come first.   
  
############  
  
Fortunately those memories don't belong to me. I've never heard the names and the numbers... well I never had much of a head for arithmetic back in school.   
  
A man at the bar who'd been eyeing my little white uniform earlier called out, "Roxanne!" I tossed my head and sent my curls swinging in a maelstrom. A few stay behind my shoulders were I intended them to be. The rest swept over the tray of greasy food in my arms.   
  
My patrons weren't the type to care.   
  
Most of them were sour smelling men. Unshaved, unwashed and with rings around their eyes indicating that this was probably their first meal of solid food in a few days. They eyed the liquor bottles hungrily. But this was a respectable establishment and we didn't serve alcohol until noon. Or at least until someone flashed a 20.   
I responded to the call with a sway in my step I'd perfected in a hundred junior beauty pageants, back home in Georgia, before the Pulse. In every single pageant I'd been crowned and had the sugary sweet smile to prove it.   
  
Life was a simple round of waiting tables and gossiping with half-sober teamsters. I didn't mind men who tried to get a look under my skirt from the bar stools and was deaf to the condescending remarks of women about my skanky appearance. My biggest problems were the pains in my ankles and how to get the blue dye that bled from my highlights off my white collar. And at lunch I'd borrow a bottle of electric orange nail polish from one of the girls and touch up the chips in my coat of pink with some hastily painted flowers.   
  
There was something sad behind my smile though (or maybe it was the white uniform a size or two too small) because men at the bar were always offering to buy me drinks. I lean on the counter top, painted three different colors depending where you sat. I'd smile and blush and touch my flat stomach with my free hand, saying I was expecting. For some, that was enough and they'd even leave me a generous tip, "for the kid."   
  
Most of them, though, eyed me like they thought I wasn't the type to care about a thing like that. To them I'd add that whatever it was they were drinking went straight to my head and I was like to spill my next tray on the customer's lap. They mumbled "alright then" and I'd thank them for the offer, blowing them a kiss that left a ring of fuchsia lipstick on my fingers.   
  
Then it was closing time and I smiled at the regulars, telling them I'd see them tomorrow. I walked the six blocks to my hole-in-wall apartment where I knew he'd be waiting.   
  
If Roxanne ever laid eyes on him she'd have declared her willingness to marry him and spend the rest of her life having his babies on the spot. But somewhere on the climb up the shaky fire escape Roxanne ceased to exist.   
  
I slipped in the window smelling deep fried as the food I served. We had a front door but the floor boards around it were rotten and neither of us trusted them with our weight. Roxanne had never seen the peeling paint of the apartment or the sparse mismatched furniture. She hadn't seen his face either because it came from the memories.   
  
I depended on him to keep me sane. He was the only one who could look through the smudged lipstick and stained uniform and see me. Even if I was just a number.   
  
That first night when I came home I'd had him right there on the floor. The mattress that came with the apartment smelled of liquor and violence, it made my stomach roll. I earned myself some vicious carpet burn that night but I needed to know that the memories were real. That the barcode hadn't reached its expiration date. 


	2. Dinner table discussion

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Donor  
  
I sat on the window sill, and tried to decide whether or not I wanted a shirt. This late in August, people tend to feel chilly once the sun goes down. Male humans are not known for common sense, but there is just no point in making myself conspicuous.   
  
Inside, the smell of cooking spices was temporarily overwhelming the combination of dog, mildew, and alcohol left over from whatever human-based life-forms used to spend their time here. The fresh air outside was tainted with diesel fumes from the freeway, garbage cans in the alley under the fire escape, and the scent of a cat in heat. Her two suitors were temporarily drowning out the noises from the plant two blocks away.  
  
I promised myself another attempt to disinfect the apartment, and stepped out to sit in the shadows on the fire escape. The last traces of pink disappeared from the haze in the West. The trash four floors below me almost vanished in the shadows.  
  
It seemed weird for me to be waiting. Well, no, that's not right. They trained me for an assassin, so I knew how to wait. Sometimes you waited for the right time to cross a security checkpoint. Sometimes you waited for the right time to approach your target. Sometimes you waited for the target to walk, unknowing, through the cross-hairs of a rifle scope.  
  
That seemed different. I was waiting for nothing. I don't really know why.  
  
I was trying to remember how long it had been, since my last mission, since the practice range back "home", and since I needed the sharp-edge focus to see nothing but my sights and a target. It wasn't like that any more, and I was having trouble thinking about it.  
  
She turned the corner into the alley, and I thought about how I was going to find her a coat to cover up that white dress. She didn't belong here, even if her streaked hair matched the graffiti.  
  
Her head swiveled to scan the scattered junk for wildlife, and she decided that the cats weren't worth disturbing. She let herself take a running jump onto the first level of the fire stairs, and the rusty steel under my jeans rang with the impact. Then her sensible, rubber-soled shoes were silent.   
  
By the time she got to the fourth floor landing she noticed me. There was still enough light to pick out the color of her lipstick, and the geometric precision of her teeth when she smiles. It seemed strange that this is was I've been waiting for.  
  
She stood next to me, and I put my arms around her legs. She leaned over and ran fingers through my hair. It would be long enough to put in a ponytail soon. Then, it was just long enough to cover the bar code.  
  
"I am so glad to be back here with just the cats," she whisperd. "Two drunks were ready to fight over Mitzi!" She told me about Mitzi. I've never met the woman, but I could imagine blonde hair bleached to the texture of straw, the gray roots, the smell of cigarette smoke, and the lines around her eyes.  
  
"Dinner's almost ready," I tried to tell her, but she was already inside.  
  
I folded myself back through the window, and took three steps to the kitchen. A towel let me lift the lid. There was a strange symmetry. One pot, one burner that works, two miss-matched bowels from the Asian grocery where we bought the rice, and two people who were going to sit down to dinner.  
  
I heard water running in the bathroom. She was always desperate to wash up after work. I knew, because the only way to get hot water there involves that same one pot, and the same stove burner.  
  
She sat down in the one wooden chair, and let herself slump forward on to the card table. "I'm so tired," she said to the blue and white dish towels we used for napkins. Our forks and spoons actually matched. We don't think the previous tenant ever used them.  
  
"Then I'll bring you dinner. It's about time someone waited on you, for a change." I turned off the burner, and divided the beans and rice between our two bowls.  
  
I set down the food, and sat in my chair. (It used to be in an office, when all four of its wheels rolled). "I've got a real job this time. I think that last set of fake papers was good work."  
  
"What is it this time?" She had heard too often about my one-day jobs. People want someone to carry boxes, dig holes, but just for the day.  
  
"Welder's assistant. No skills required, just hard work."  
  
"That must have taken some serious lying." She picked up her bowel with one hand curved around the bottom, and looked at me over the rim.  
  
"I decided I was tired of that. I told him the truth."  
  
The porcelain hit the table with a thud. "Are you insane?"  
  
"Do I look stupid?" I had to laugh. "Just the important parts of the truth."  
  
"Which are?" One eyebrow arched higher over blue eyes.  
  
"That I got my girlfriend pregnant, and her parents will kill her if she goes home, and I want to take care of her and do the right thing."  
  
She snorted. "That is just so corny and 1950s."  
  
"That's what he told me, too. But I have the job. Union dues, payroll deduction for taxes, the whole thing."  
  
"So what are you going to spend all that money on?" 


	3. Dinner table, conclusion

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Host   
  
"So what are you going to spend all that money on?" The food in front of me tasted much better than it had any right to. As often as not I passed up my chance to gag down diner food at lunch. Eventually, I knew I'd have to stop skipping meals and get over it. It's not like I haven't chewed the fat before.   
  
"Paying rent on time." He said, pushing food around with his fork. That would be something to celebrate. I made $2.15 an hour plus tips. "Yeah." I mimicked him, playing with my food.   
  
Welding. Out here that was something to be proud of. It required some skill and a degree of intelligence. If I could only adopt enough of Roxanne's perspective to be content with that.   
  
I had to push down the frustration though. He'd heard what I thought enough times by now. Telling him again that he shouldn't have come with me would be a waste of breath.   
  
It would be better now, I told myself. I'd hated seeing him burn through the multitude of odd jobs with an accepting smile for my benefit. It was all such a waste of what he could be.   
  
That's probably the real reason I never let him come to the diner. We both knew what a hypocrite I was being but it was bearable as long as he never saw.   
  
"Maybe we can get one of those heating units." I suggested. It wasn't exactly cold yet but it wouldn't be long. Buying something like that was out of our budget and it would make this situation seem... permanent. I didn't want to think about that.   
  
"I got a job offer today too." I said. Leaving dead air in this apartment was never pleasant.   
  
"Really?" He noticed the look on my face. I knew what it was. I'd had quite frequently- before. Bloodthirsty. "Do I want to hear this?"   
  
I didn't smile, not even smirk. That expression was one Roxanne used too much. "This guy, in one of the booths, he was being all sweet and polite." But it was syrupy sweet. Sticky and wrong. "So I was trying to avoid him but he kept asking for this and that. The jerk couldn't order a meal all at once he had to go through the whole menu in pieces."   
  
"It's that uniform."   
  
I rolled my eyes and pulled at the collar. "So he kept talking to me then he said, 'Roxanne, that name should be in lights'. Gave me his business card and said I could even keep my white uniform." I gave him the card.   
  
He took one look at it and somehow pulled off an expression that was a scowl and a smirk. "You just wouldn't be keeping it on."   
  
"Right." I dropped my fork. I would've adjusted his jaw for him. It would have made me smile for real to hear bone crunch and cartilage pop. But not Roxanne, she was used to that kind of thing. Unfortunately for him sometimes bits of me leaked through the Georgia girl mask. "Spilled his next cup of coffee in his lap. Wasted the coffee and lost myself a patron but the woman in the booth behind him gave me a nice tip."   
  
I stood up. "Eat." He commanded, like it was part of our routine. It was no use telling him that I'd eaten at the diner. Or offering the truth, that it would sit in my stomach like a rock.   
  
I swallowed a few more mouthfuls and washed the bowl out. At night the water ran clear instead of the rusty brown that flowed for the first ten minutes in the morning.   
  
Maybe next week I'd have an appetite. Maybe next week the world would make sense again. 


	4. The dilemma

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Donor. The dilemma.  
  
I brushed my teeth in the sink, and tried not to let her damp white uniform stick to the back of my neck. "Tomorrow," I told myself, "I've got a job, and at the end of the week, a paycheck." I shut off the water, and the light, then closed the door so that the bugs playing in the shower stall wouldn't keep us awake.  
  
She sat on the mattress in one of my T-shirts, and hugged her knees to her chest. I shut off the lights, and found her shoulder by touch. "Can you forget about it all for long enough to sleep, beautiful?"  
  
"You should just go," she whispered. "I'll be fine. I don't need you to take care of me." The light from a patrolling hover drone picked out the painted blue stripes in the gold of her hair. Then it was dark again.  
  
"You can take care of yourself. I know." As always, my feet hung off the end of the mattress. I made a mental note that one of us would have to wash the sheets in the next couple of days. "I like having you around."  
  
"Why?" I could tell that she was frowning, even just by her silhouette against the sky outside the window.  
  
I wished I could answer her question.   
****  
They designed her to be the perfect soldier. Somewhere in the design specifications, they decided that she should also be the perfect bait. She's supposed to make the male mind think about at least trying to get her pregnant. As far as I know, it works on everyone, me included.  
  
The first thing you noticed about her is either the shape of her hips, or her chaotic mass of bronze colored hair. You would get closer, and decide that she was lucky enough to have perfect skin, and even teeth. Her eyes were blue, shading to gray. Her smile and her frown were equally painful, in different ways. I don't know how I kept my hands to myself for as long as I did.   
  
They assigned us to work as a team. She looked soft and harmless, and I looked too young, and too tall, and harmless. People would flirt with her, and ignore me. They wouldn't realize the mistake until it was too late. Someone would be dead, and the two of us would be on our way out the door.  
  
Maybe we were too close. I couldn't say.  
****  
"I shouldn't be pregnant," she whispered. "I should just end it." The traffic noise in the distance wasn't as loud at that time of night.  
  
I didn't want to have that conversation again. "If that is how you feel about it, we should just call the pickup phone number, and wait for the black Humvees to drive up. The commander will come up with some really creative and nasty punishment for us. Oh, and we will never work together again."  
  
"If you are trying to cheer me up, you need to know that it's not working."  
  
"What I mean is, we've got options, but they all suck." The darkness in the apartment felt oppressive. "They know we're missing after that last mission, but I think we are ahead of the pursuit for a little while. Tell me what you want to do, and I'll back you."  
  
She didn't answer for a long time.   
  
I listened to the sounds from all the normal people in the building around us. Someone was watching television next door. On the other side, I could hear snatches of conversation that suggested a poker game. Upstairs, the shifting of springs in a mattress and the creak of the bed frame. Somewhere, further away, the high-pitched fussing of some child. 


	5. The Solution

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorised Genetic Experiment: The Solution (Host)  
  
I'd make a decision and he'd back me. As much as it sounded like some noble speech he'd rehearsed in the bathroom mirror, I knew that wasn't the case.  
  
It was just the truth, plain and simple. That was how we worked, how we'd always worked. He was always there behind me ready to do whatever it took to complete the objective. I set the scene, he pulled the trigger. The two of us were perfectly compatible. Something the veteran soldier who'd run our lives for two decades didn't miss.  
  
We were thrown together in drills one day against our will. The things we went through… you don't survive that kind of thing with someone else and not develop some kind of trust, however twisted it may be. From then on we were the dream team. Give us a mark and he was as good as dead. It might take a day, or a week or months but the man would soon be feeding the worms.  
  
So what had happened to us?  
  
A plethora of sound mapped the blackened city around us. It was never quiet here. At first, every sound had been a threat to me. They were the sounds of Humvees pulling up or distant helicopter blades. But I was getting used to it. Sometimes I even caught the homey sound of gunfire from a mugging.  
  
Right now the sounds were pressing in on me. Screaming that I would be spending the rest of my life with the cats and drunks. Then a high wailing split the air, shrill enough to irritate even human ears.   
  
A baby.  
  
Either it covered every other sound or I'd suddenly become deaf to them. Everyone I'd grown up with was a guinea pig; there was no question about that. I was a whole new breed of guinea pig though. They made me just to see what Mother Nature's take would be on their little projects. I'd been told from birth that while I could play soldier with the others, my real purpose was to be mommy to a new set of guinea pigs.  
  
They'd told me about everything that goes along with pregnancy. They'd eventually realized what a formidable weapon they'd inadvertently created and told me how to wrap males around my finger… then snap their necks.  
  
Somehow they forgot to tell me that I'd give a damn about a kid.  
  
"I have to stay." I said into the dark.   
  
"Alright then." His hands wrapped around my waist in wordless confirmation that he was staying too. Nature couldn't make hands so more perfect than his for firing a gun. They were attached to the last face anyone would expect to peer through gun sights. Hazel eyes, dark hair and the smile of the boy next-door. A smile he could flash in one heart beat and kill you in the next.   
  
That was then, though, because somewhere along the line we figured out just how compatible we were. 


	6. Working For a Living

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Working For a Living (Donor)  
  
I woke up before sunrise, just like I'd ordered myself, late last night.  
  
For a few moments, everything felt perfect. The loudest noise was her breathing, and the sagging mattress just served to roll her sleeping warmth against my chest. A stray bit of her hair was trying to find its way up my nose, but that was good too.   
  
It didn't last long. The first impossible task for the day: getting my arm out from under her head without waking her up.  
****  
I got to the construction site just as it became obvious that the sun was going to spend the entire day behind clouds. The breeze was shifting randomly around from one minute to the next. My guess was for cooler, and rain.  
  
The lights were on in the trailer that served as the office for the project. It perched on the high edge of the site near the road, and overlooked an expanse of mud dotted with surveyor stakes. I couldn't tell yet if this was supposed to be an office park, or an apartment building, or what. I'd have to look at the sign on my way home this afternoon.  
  
"C'mon in!" A woman's voice reached my ears as I opened the door into the trailer. A big smile, coffee colored skin, and an oval face framed by tiny braids. Her movement sent the beads swinging. She slid out from behind the desk, and I tried to identify the contents of all the cargo pockets in her khaki pants. (. . . "You will assume everyone is armed, your task is to find out how!" someone shouted at a class full of six year olds. . .) The pants seemed to contain keys, a cell phone, and a folding knife clipped to her pocket. The shirt pockets had pens.  
  
"You must be Jackson Lee Messinger," she said as she held out a hand. "I've been wondering if your parents were from the North or the South."  
  
"I go by Jack, actually." Oh, she's talking about the American civil war, I realized. "One of each. They were both history buffs, though."  
  
"Call me Tish. My parents had some weird ideas about names, too." She opened the top drawer of a file cabinet, and dug around inside. "Just a couple more things to take care of. Red will be by at ten o'clock for you."  
  
"I thought I'd signed everything yesterday." It had been a huge stack of paper. I wondered how much more paperwork would fill the next three hours.  
  
"You did." She set a stack of old-fashioned videotapes next to a TV set, and pushed the button on the player underneath it. Static danced across the screen as the player sucked in the first of the tapes. "Safety videos. There are four of them."  
  
For the next forty-five minutes I watched a presentation about the importance of wearing a hard hat and steel-toed shoes in areas with a posted sign "Hard Hat Area." The tape finished, I hit the 'rewind' button, and I looked at the next tape in the stack. The label was smudged, but it seemed to say something about safety glasses.  
  
I looked over at Tish. She was sorting through drifts of pastel colored paper, and making notes on a yellow pad.  
  
"Excuse me," I said, and held up the videotape. "Is there just a written list of procedures to follow? It would be quicker then watching all of this."  
  
Tish dropped her pencil, blinked twice, and rubbed her temples, leaving a smudge of graphite. "Jack, what planet are you from?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Here on Earth, not everyone reads real good. So, if I put a piece of paper in front of them, they will tell me they understand. If I want them to actually do things right, I make them watch the tape."  
  
"Oh."   
  
"So, just sit down and watch the rest, okay?"  
  
"Yes ma'am!"  
****  
A couple of hours later, Red finally arrived. He was six inches shorter than I am, but made up for it in width and mass. I'm sure he was once a red-head, but the the fringe of hair around his bald scalp was gray.  
***  
I watched Red double-check the power connections from the welder to the generator set. The diesel engine that powered it made enough noise that I couldn't hear him cursing his knees as he stood up, slowly.   
  
"Well, aren't you a cutie?" sneered the central figure in a group of three workers.  
  
"Leave off the kid, Terry!" Red circled around to put himself between me and them.  
  
"It's fine, Red." I knew that showing weakness would just be more trouble later. "The guy can call me 'cutie' if he wants." I glanced at Terry's left hand, noted the wedding ring. "After all, his wife does."  
  
I counted to two during the stunned silence before Terry's friends started laughing. "Kid got you fair and square!" said one, punching his shoulder.  
  
We watched the three of them go back to the beginnings of the excavation.  
  
"Watch out for him," said Red, frowning. "His idea of a good time is beating someone else bloody."  
  
"I've got cousins like that," I say. I'm pretty confident I can take on any two in a fair fight. "More than that if I'm willing to play dirty," I tell myself. 


	7. Sticky Sweet

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetics Experiment: Sticky Sweet  
  
At breakfast time, the atmosphere is sticky more than greasy. Roxanne will tell you this place makes the best pancakes above the Mason Dixon line, if you don't mind them being a little raw in the middle. I just keep taking orders and scraping syrupy napkins off the tables. It's not remotely glamorous, but really mornings are the best time of day.   
  
They're good by association really. See in the morning I get to wake up as me and I get to wake up with him. Before all this I woke up as a weapon and I woke up alone. Mornings are really the one good thing about my new- life.   
  
Then there are the kids. It seems not even the door that has a board in place of a glass pane or the flickering fluorescent sign outside can deter human children when it comes to pancakes.   
  
In the beginning they drove me crazy. Always changing their minds and making a mess, those little creatures managed to poison the best part of my day. But now… I don't know maybe Roxanne's rubbing off on me.   
  
One little boy came in today, probably the skinniest child I've ever seen and I've been to more than a few third world countries. I could have counted all of his bones and he looked more like a goat than a boy. It was his birthday he told me and he ordered a stack of pancakes while young his mother looked on in silence. When I brought him syrup to go with his pancakes his eyes got so big I thought his eyebrows might disappear into his hair line. He gave me a big, dirty-fingered hug.  
  
Another stain I'd have to wash out but I didn't mind so much. He pulled on my arm and whispered to ask if he could borrow my pen. When I came back to clear his plate he presented me and his mother with the tow halves of his napkin with a thank you note scrawled on them. He read the words to his mother who nodded and blushed. She couldn't read.  
  
I got another, syrupy this time, before he left. Roxanne hugged him back… and maybe I did too.  
  
By dinner time I'd practically forgotten the boy, too distracted by the blisters forming on my feet. Not that I wasn't used to blisters but there is a definite difference between blisters earned through a day's march and blisters that are the product of tennis shoes already wearing out. At least they would heal over night.   
  
##########################  
  
It's was dark by the time I was two blocks away from the diner. Somehow this run down city gets worse after dark. On my way past a darkened streetlight (my landmark telling me I'm halfway home) I heard a man's voice curse and a woman's raised in fear. The sounds drifted out of an alley.   
  
Not my problem.  
  
But I kicked the streetlight on just the right place on my way by anyway. It flicked to life and a shadow fled from the alley. Two good deeds in one day, I'm getting soft.   
  
For once the apartment was empty when I got home. I turned on the lights and jammed a piece of cardboard box in a broken window, there was a breeze tonight. Footsteps rang on the fire escape. I immediately assessed every weapon at hand. But I recognized the footfalls and soon they diminished, they'd only sounded in the first place for my benefit. I don't light being snuck up on.   
  
His smile was more amusement than mirth. I got my third hug of the day. It was more affection than I was ready to handle in a short period of time so I backed away asking him about work. "You wouldn't believe how much red tape there is on a construction site. And I think I'll be dreaming about hard hats for the next week."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"No." He shook his head. "Not that bad. It's a paycheck and requires some kind of skill. I made myself an enemy by lunch though."  
  
"It took you that long?" I asked. "Well I guess not everyone can be as irresistible as I am."  
  
We both laughed. Roxanne was sweet as maple syrup but I… well anyone who knew the real me would probably describe me in one word. Bitch. 


	8. TGIF

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: TGIF  
  
Friday night, and the streetlights were starting to come on.  
  
I was waiting again. Just sitting was a bit of a novelty. I'd found out that as Red's assistant, my job involved carrying anything he didn't feel like carrying, and going and getting anything more than a few feet away. Not to mention that some of the equipment that we'd been repairing needed two people to lift. Red was a great guy to work for, but he managed to make me tired enough to feel like I had earned the money.  
  
"Jack's" paycheck for the week was almost gone already, but we were caught up with the rent now. I had plans for the rest of it. She promised to meet me here, at the end of a street full of second hand shops, used book stores, and store-front churches.  
  
The row of buildings on the other side of the street had been painted in strange colors during the last attempt at gentrification. For some odd reason, the intricate geometric brick-work of arched doors and windows had been obscured by bright paint. The shop at the far end was red, with the next one over orange. The yellow "Church of Sunny Weather" held the center of the block, the green one next to it, and the last one sported peeling blue paint. I could see the shadow of three awkward manikins on the dirty window. It was a thrift store.  
  
"I guess that's the sunny side of the street," said her voice. She was standing just behind my left shoulder, and leaning on the back of the bench. "The assistant manager acted all surprised that I didn't want the dinner shift, but she decided to let Roxie go on her date."  
  
"And here you are." She let me reach over my shoulder and take her hand. "Jack's a lucky guy. The pretty waitress is going to help him spend all his money."  
  
"How much is that?" She walked around the end of the bench and sat next to me without letting go.  
  
"Well, I've got fifty. It needs to get you a coat, and whatever's left can get us some dinner that someone else cooks."  
  
She giggled, and rubbed at a ketchup stain on her white skirt. "If any place will let us in."  
  
"Hey, not every place can be as classy your diner." I decided that I shouldn't really talk. I had gone to the trouble of putting on a clean shirt, but there was plenty of dirt between my pants and my work boots.  
  
She stared off into the distance. "I don't need a winter coat. We should be saving up for the next escape, when they catch up with us." I though about how much the last two fake identities had cost us. Jack and Roxanne both had papers good enough to get real work. We'd been lucky to find someone reliable, and the price was high.  
  
"We can't do that again." I felt like I was sinking into the bench, and our combined weight was about to crack the concrete, and we were going to sink into the center of the Earth. "We're stuck. We've just got to live the part."  
  
"Roxanne is making me crazy," she told me. "She smiles and sucks up to people I want to damage." Her free hand formed a fist for a moment.  
  
"I know what you mean. I keep thinking about what would happen if 'Jack' got into trouble with the law."  
  
"Shit. They'd lock you up, and . . ."  
  
". . . as soon as they figured out what they had, I'd be on my way back." I didn't mention the tranquilizers and heavy restraints that would probably be involved. Both of us knew how Manticore worked.  
  
She shook her head, like maybe her dark thoughts would fly off. "Well, Roxanne likes the idea of shopping, anyway."  
The door into the blue thrift shop was painted light purple, and stuck in the frame until I leaned on it. Bells on the inside knob jingled, and we were inside.  
  
"Groovy," she said with an evil smile. She held up a pair of pants. "I always loooved bell-bottoms."  
  
"If I don't like it, I can always take it off." She rolled her eyes at my offer.   
  
We worked our way between the crowded racks of clothing. It was mostly sorted by size and gender. Things with sequins and fur trim were hung on the walls for decoration.   
  
"Isn't this cute!" she exclaimed. Her fingers tugged at the hem of a very small pink dress with lace trim. The sign "Baby Clothes" hung over her head.  
  
"I think it's a bit early to be shopping for that," I pointed out, and tried to suppress the panic. "Don't you think?"  
  
"Well, yeah." She looked longingly back at the tiny dress as she followed me towards a herd of coats. 


	9. Camo

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Camo  
  
I let go of the soft, lacy fabric of the infant's outfit. It was for the best. The price tag on it was big enough that the kid would have worn the clothes everyday regardless of gender.  
  
With an unprecedented pang of regret, I turned away from the baby clothes. That section had smelled like the former owners of the clothes. The scent was warm and fuzzy and oddly comforting. Odd, because I knew the smell was a combination of breast milk and vomit.   
  
The coat section had an array of fabrics and colors though cheap and faded were the most typical variety. There were coats of faux fur and coats with extra pockets in strategic locations. My eye fell on one that I couldn't resist trying on… probably because he saw it first and couldn't look away.   
  
Good condition. Full- length. Red leather.  
  
I embraced Roxanne's passion for shopping and swept the coat on. His eyes went a little unfocused in the manner of a flashback. Not the kind that preceded a bout of the shakes, this was a different kind all together  
  
This was one of the few memories from Manticore that didn't involve pain, bloodshed or orders. There's was just an empty shrink's office, no surveillance and a red leather sofa.   
  
Somehow though, that one good memory had been the start of all this.   
  
I shrugged the coat off. He blinked. "Y-you can't buy that…"   
  
I smirked. He never stuttered. "I know," I picked up the price tag, "I'd have to figure out how to live in it and eat it."  
  
"That's not what I meant." I threw the coat at him and let Roxie go back to shopping. She'd been simply ecstatic at the diner that day, kicking the juke box and singing along to the tunes that it managed to produce.   
  
Eventually I settled on a warm, old army coat. It wasn't a really pleasant piece of nostalgia but I couldn't get used to women's jackets anyway- they buttoned on the wrong side.   
  
For dinner we settled on Chinese as the most different from diner food. I left the restaurant with a full stomach that for the first time in days didn't feel like something large was trying to claw its way out. "Thank you." I drawled in Roxanne's sweet southern tone.  
  
"What?" He stopped and laughed.   
  
"I decided I need to learn how to say that." I explained. "I'm not so good at it but Roxie is. It's a start." 


	10. A familiar interface

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: A familiar interface.  
  
"So," I asked her as I let the restaurant door close behind her, "What did your fortune cookie say?" The weird yellow color of sodium-vapor street lights glinted off her hair and made the green splotched design of the coat look muddy.  
  
"It said 'You can learn from everyone, even yourself.'" She pulled the coat more closely around herself. "Yours?"  
  
"Mine said 'The old ways aren't always the best.'" Well, some things were just habit. There weren't many people out on the street at this hour, but I had a mental picture of where all of them were, and where they seemed to be headed.  
  
"Can't imagine what the cookie would mean by that." Her eyes narrowed, and she flashed me half a smile. "Let's go in there."  
  
"There" was a video arcade. A haze of cigarette smoke swirled near the ceiling, and the sound effects from the various machines called to each other like some sort of electronic mating ritual.  
  
"How about we burn a couple of bucks from my tips?" she offered. "What do you think we can put high scores on?"  
  
I have to laugh. We can put high scores on anything we want. The question is: what will be fun? I look at the row of pinball machines, the four or five joystick based fight games, Tetris, and a bunch of the newer ones.  
  
"How about this one?" I said, patting the molded fiberglass shell of "Mortal Combat X." It's got some fairly advanced sensors. You stand on the platform, and the little fighter on the screen duplicates your moves. "I'll bet you can kick its virtual ass!"  
  
I haven't seen her smile like that in a long time. She cracks her knuckles and steps up.  
  
She feeds the coins in, and points to select a fighter for herself, and points again for the virtual opponent.  
  
I lean against another machine, where I can see the front door and the back door without too much difficulty, and hold her coat. 


	11. Virtual

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Virtual  
  
My fighter was a dark chick in cargo pants. I'd decided one my opponent even before I picked my own player. Anyone that thinks she can effectively kick ass with her thighs, stomach and the better part of her breasts exposed deserves the beating of a life time regardless of actual existence or lack thereof.   
  
The shell of the gaming apparatus itself didn't let me jump much or perform sweeps so I was pretty much limited to kick and punch, attack and counter. Then there was the fact that sometimes I got a little too into the fight and sped up enough that I had to wait for the machine to catch up.  
  
Despite the attention I was paying to the task at hand, I hadn't failed to notice the people that turned to watch (probably more due to the fact that I was jumping around in my uniform than my fighting skills). My brain, as it always did when there was adrenaline in my system, was processing several things at once. Like the fact that the guy at the game to my right was left handed and the guy to my left was most definitely stoned.   
  
I was on round three with my opponent and the crowd had noticed something beyond my skirt ("Look at her go!"). So I was ready to let the game end when the 'insert coin' sign began flashing but one of my admirers fed it some more quarters with a wink my direction.  
  
In the next round I let my girl take some hits, feigning fatigue. Suddenly the atmosphere in the room shifted, the collective scent of the crowd… changed. Not seeing the cause of the disturbance, I looked to where he was standing holding my coat. He wasn't looking at me but the tension in his muscles said I better be ready to kick some physical ass. 


	12. Hard reality

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Hard Reality.  
  
Someone small and bright dashed in through the open front door of the video arcade. I got the impression of young and skinny, and scared. I wondered why, and then my question was answered.  
  
The pursuit had arrived. There were three: teenage, male, and favoring leather and shiny plastic. I caught the glint of reflected neon on metal chains and buckles.  
  
The quarry turned towards me, and her panic reached me like a shockwave. Her eyes were an unreal green, and her face was painted with something that glowed green, in stripes and loops. The pattern on her face extended into her pale hair. She must have put on the paint when she was happy, and wanted to be seen. Now she was regretting it.  
  
'Roxie' had lost track of the video fight. She scanned the crowd for the best way out of the machine, while her bikini-clad virtual opponent pummled the other girl on the game's screen.  
  
The green girl was trying to follow the edge of the crowd, and the punk sorts were after her. Adrenaline was fueling her run. She was ahead for the moment, and zig-zagging between the machines.  
  
I ducked around the corner of a shoot-em-up game, and stepped out behind her as she streaked by. I threw the coat over her head, wrapped my arms around her and lifted her off her feet.  
  
She became all feet and elbows as I pulled her into the shadow of a flight simulator game. "Hold still, you idiot!" I squeezed a little tighter, and she stopped struggling. Her legs stuck out from the coat. Her stockings were pale grey and boots were silver patent leather. "Tuck in your feet." She curled, and I tucked in the coat around her.   
  
I hoped she'd have the wits to stay still. I turned my attention back to the room, and tried to spot the white uniform with the tag that said "Roxanne."   
Author's note:  
Sorry about the short chapter, but I really need to switch back to 'Roxanne's' point of view. 


	13. Game over

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Game over.  
  
I tried to think like a beach ball. The crowd that had been watching me high-kick in a short skirt was now trying to figure out who was enemy, and who was friend. The combination of adrenaline and confusion was turning it into a free-for-all.  
  
I'd already made up my mind. "Jack" was the only friend around. Anything else was either target, or cover.  
  
Mostly cover, actually. I'm short enough that when I bend my knees, most of the wilder swings go over my head. It was just a matter of not getting stepped on, and sliding out of the way when someone got shoved in my direction.  
  
By Brownian motion, I made my (random) way towards where my man and my new coat had been. Of course, someone else was there instead. Manticore didn't raise stupid soldiers, or at least not any that lived.   
  
I side-stepped the stoner who had been playing Asteroids. He was riding the crowd with a smile like he remembered some fantastic mosh-pit experience back in the '90s. Idiot.  
  
A hand closed on my wrist. I identified a black leather jacket with way too much metal, and a really incredible assortment of light-emitting earrings. The black eyeshadow matched his nail-polish.  
  
"Where's the little tart?" he demanded, and tried to push me backwards.  
  
"Who wants to know?" I put my other hand on top of his, and went with his direction, only more towards the floor. A long step backwards dragged him with me, and he got distracted by the floor hitting his face.   
  
Roxane would have answered him more politely. I kicked him in the ribs, and slid away towards the back door. Just in time. Someone else tripped over him. Too bad.  
  
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I spun to block, but recognized "Jack's" quick, tight smile before I decked him. He didn't have the coat, but I'd forgive him for that.  
  
Sirens. "Back door, now!" I wanted to be gone.  
  
He turned away from me, and I grabbed his sleeve. He kept going, and I was left with panic, and a small piece of shirt. He tucked himself under the fake nosecone of something with blinking lights, and came back out with a bundle wrapped in my coat.  
  
"Right behind you." He hefted whatever it was over one shoulder, and the two of us were at the back door as the lights went off and the police came in.  
  
I didn't stop until we were a block away, in an unlit alley decorated with a trashed car and empty packing cartons.  
  
"Let me out!" insisted a muffled voice. That's when I noticed that my coat had bony legs, and feet. Roxanne was instantly envious of the shiny footwear, but I mentally told her to shut up.  
  
"It's okay," he said. "You don't need to run." He set the package down on its feet, and unwrapped my coat.  
  
My first impression—too young and too fragile to be a threat. She looked to be about fourteen.   
  
My second impression was that there was money involved. Her eyes were an artificial green, and an abstract pattern of curves glowed green on her face. The luminous stripes in her hair were definitely paint. Some of it had rubbed off on the inside of my jacket.  
  
"What did you bring that along for?" I asked him.  
  
"Three guys chased her into the arcade."   
  
The girl nodded her agreement, and tugged her sweater sleeves back over her skinny arms. "Thanks. I'm Lucid." 


	14. Rebel without a clue

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Rebel without a clue.  
  
"So what do we do with you, Lucid?" she asked, and pushed her hands into the pockets of her dress. I handed her the coat, and she put it on. Now the most visible thing here was the eerie glow of Lucid's face decoration.  
  
"I didn't ask for your help." The girl's pout went with the sullen, slouched posture. "I was minding my own business, some guys go after me, and someone decides to help me out." Then she decided to smile at me. She shifted from one foot to the other, and tugged the hem of her mini skirt.   
  
I turned back to 'Roxanne,' who was doing a slow burn. "Think we should take her home, or is she safe here?"  
  
"Who cares?" Her frown intensified. "She didn't get her ass kicked, no one's after her, she can go wherever she wants!"  
  
"I'm not going home!" insisted Lucid.  
  
"Might be safer than waiting around for the guys who were chasing you," I suggested.  
  
"So get lost!" growled 'Roxanne' at more or less the same time.   
  
"No one is going to tell me what to do! I didn't put up with this crap from my parents, and I'm not going to take it from you!" The girl ran at me, and tried to push me down. My combat training kicked in. I took half a step backwards, and shouldered her away.  
  
Lucid hit the dirty pavement, and 'Roxanne' was on top of her in a moment, with a forearm across the girl's throat.  
  
"Give the wallet back!" Lucid's struggling didn't seem to be helping. "Now!"  
  
I patted my now-empty back pocket. I should have noticed.  
  
It's almost like I was back at Manticore. The camo-clad X-5 dug her thumb into a soft spot behind the other girl's jaw. Lucid whimpered, and dropped my wallet. I snagged it before anyone could change their mind. "I've got some bad news for you, Lucid." I couldn't help a snicker. "You would have gotten exactly a dollar if you'd gotten away with it. You really ought to consider the ratio of risk to reward."  
  
'Roxanne' got up and put a distance between herself and Lucid.  
  
"But I was hungry!"  
  
"You're stupid!" was the reply. "You are trying to pick pockets, and you aren't even trying not to be noticed."  
  
"Was that why those guys were after you?" It would make a certain amount of sense.  
  
"I need to eat." Lucid curled into a ball and tried to cover her head with her hands. "The tattoos use glucose."  
  
"That's not paint?"  
  
"Bio-reactive tattoos. The glow takes energy. They told me not to get more than a little design, because I'd need more calories."  
  
"But no one is going to tell you what to do." I don't usually get sarcastic like that. The girl would never have survived Manticore. Never.  
  
'Roxanne' lifted one hand out of the coat pocket, and signaled for a quiet exit. I followed her out of the alley and back onto the street.  
  
"Not our problem," I whispered, and put my arm around Roxanne's shoulder. We picked up our pace. We were on our way home.  
  
"We can't do anything for the mentally deficient," she agreed.  
  
"Natural selection," I pointed out.  
  
We stopped under a burned out street light. Her eyes were dark, dark, grey. "Let's follow her."  
  
"She can't have gone far," I agree. 


	15. Busted Lip

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
In those moments, pursuing a glowing girl through dim city streets I couldn't help but laugh to myself. More than a decade ago a few of us left Manticore to try and make it in the outside world. A couple of them died and more than a couple had to go through reconditioning which was probably worse. All for… this.   
  
I always wondered why they bailed, why they abandoned the unit. Did they know something we didn't? Were they all out here somewhere chasing strays?  
  
A glow caught my eye. He saw it too. This is what we did and our targets rarely had the courtesy to glow for us like this 'Lucid.' She was moving toward one of the open air markets, maybe trying the direct route for glucose. The press of bodies kept shielding her from my view but 'Jack' was considerably taller and kept us going in the right direction.   
  
I hadn't seen any green glow for a few minutes when a shout broke through the din of the crowd. A skinny body was propelled out of the jam and stumbled into an alley. I slipped through the crowd and wrapped my arm around a set of shoulders blanketed in white-blonde hair. "Hi there Lucid." I said amiably.   
  
We'd only meant to follow her, make sure she wouldn't end up in a gutter but when she looked up at me I could tell she was on her way there. Blood was trickling from her lip, black in the fading light and the side of her face was already swelling. She clutched her prize out of my reach though. It was a wallet considerably fatter than the one she lifted from 'Jack.' "Pretty soon you'll have enough for a tombstone." He'd shown up behind us.  
  
Lucid tried to back away. "It's mine." She said.  
  
"I think that big guy who gave you that would tell us different." He indicated the darkening bruise. "Maybe you should lay off the stealing."  
  
"I don't like people telling me what to do!" She spun away from me.  
  
I snorted. "I don't like ungrateful little girls who don't know what's good for them." Lucid swung at me feebly. I caught her wrist and gripped it tight enough to make her draw a sharp breath.   
  
The girls eyes widened and the glow from her face paled some more. "My parents will ransom me…"  
  
"Ungrateful, little, rich girls." I didn't let go. "Bad move kid, if you come from money, keep your mouth shut."  
  
"Come on Roxie." He said right behind my ear. He always was the good cop.  
  
I sighed. "I work at a diner if you come with us and keep your hands to yourself I might be able to get you some leftovers." She looked ready to protest. "You better eat soon I've seen corpses that look as good as you." 


	16. Kitchen entrance

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment:   
  
16. Kitchen entrance.  
  
I followed Lucid's glow and 'Roxanne''s camouflage coat. Lucid didn't look good, but I wasn't about to carry her again. I had the familiar feeling of a mission going badly wrong. You went in by the book, the way they told you in the briefing, and a few minutes later you were trying to improvise your way out of something totally FUBAR.  
  
'Roxie' ducked into the diner's kitchen, while Lucid and I waited between a bin for recycled cardboard, and a couple of industrial-sized garbage cans.  
  
"Hey, Mitzi. . . ."  
  
"I thought you had a date! Well, it's good that you're here. You can fill in for Sarah. She never showed, and I'm trying to deal with this circus by myself."  
  
"Uh, not really why I'm here." She leaned out the door, and grabbed Lucid's sleeve. "I found a hungry little waif who is going to wash dishes for you."  
  
"And who's this?" Mitzi looked me up and down as I followed them in to the orange-tiled brightness of the kitchen. "Are there more? Can I get one?"  
  
"Jack, yes, and probably not," I answered before 'Roxie' could come up with something abrasive. "I'm just along for the ride."  
  
"Well, okay. But we've got another two hours until we close." Mitzi fluffed her bleached-blonde bouffant, and attempted to bat her artificial eyelashes at me. "Roxie, I really need the help."  
  
"Okay," she said, and draped her coat over my arm. "Don't let the little twit get herself into any more trouble!" she whispered.  
  
She held still long enough for me to whisper "Roger, wilco!" and kiss her cheek. Then she grabbed an apron off a hook and dashed into the dining room. I hoped she wasn't going to have too much trouble switching gears between sneaking around, and carrying trays.  
  
"What happened to you?" Mitzi had finally noticed Lucid, who was trying to shrink herself into a corner. In the light, it was easy to see the bruise forming, and a smear where she'd tried to wipe away the blood. "Let's get you cleaned up, dear."  
  
Lucid followed, like a puppy. I heard water running in the ladies' room.  
  
A few minutes later, Lucid was slumped on a chair in the corner of the kitchen. She didn't look good. The green design on her face was fading, and I wondered what was keeping her upright. Her eyes were half-closed, until Mitzi came back.  
  
"I brought you some pie, honey." She set the plate in the girl's lap, and handed her a fork. "I'll be back in a minute with some milk."  
  
"Don't make yourself sick," I suggested. Lucid glared at me, but the fork didn't slow down. "How long has it been since you ate?" She chewed instead of answering. 


	17. Charity Case

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Charity Case  
I washed my hands in preparation for work. (I don't know why I bother) My day was swirling down the drain just like the tepid water.   
  
A sway entered my steps as the catcalls from the regulars started and Roxanne began taming the circus with a wink and a swirl of her skirt. This place was like a sinkhole. It attracted everything negative about my life that I'd rather just keep out of view behind closed doors. I chalked another mark up on the tally in my head against Lucid.   
  
I sauntered into the kitchen to delivery my scrawled list of orders and saw Lucid inhaling a slice of pie. I grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to the kitchen door. "I'm not going to clean up after you." Sure enough the girl was spewing vomit into the alley a few minutes later. 'Jack' gave me a questioning look. "Look at her," I said "her stomach's got to be the size of a walnut. Tell Mitzi to get her some soup, no one orders it anyway."  
  
A clamor was steadily rising from the dinner crowd. My adopted name was tossed around by a dozen baritones with varying degrees of slurring. "Need some help out there?" He asked.  
  
"This is nothing compared to field maneuvers." I said quickly. "Just stay here."  
  
Mitzi bustled around the diner taking orders and as always, holding her pen like a cigarette. "So are all your dates charity cases?" She called. "You must be a wild one honey!" She poked my ribs on her way past. It was a mark of how much things had changed that I dismissed something that would once have sent me into attack mode.   
  
On my next trip to the kitchen Lucid was spooning something up with surprising speed. I layered plates onto my tray in a circular fashion. "That's not physically possible." He eyed my tray. I winked.   
  
On my third trip Lucid was shouting and he was regarding her with a stare that cracked many victims of Manticore interrogation. 


	18. Heart to Heart

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment:   
  
18. Heart to heart.  
  
"Where are you staying now?" This was my third repeat of the same question, although I hadn't used exactly those word the last two times.  
  
"I told you. Friends." Lucid was pouting again.  
  
"Where's that?" I asked. Mitzi arrived with a glass of milk, which I took, and another bowl of soup.  
  
"What are you? Some kind of cop?"  
  
"No, I'm just trying to keep you from being road-kill. If we take you back to your friends, maybe tomorrow will work out better for you." I tried to remember why I'd tried to keep her from getting beaten up. I was starting to feel a real sympathy for a couple of people.  
  
"Nice try." She tasted the soup. "They are almost as bad as my parents."  
  
"Do you think there might be a common factor?" I was starting to wonder how long it would take for the glow to go out if I strangled her, right now.  
  
"What?" The green lines above her eyebrows knit together.   
  
"Never mind." I stood up, and almost knocked over a couple of mops.  
  
"I don't want to go back there," Lucid said firmly. "I want to go home with you."  
  
I had a sudden vision of the three of us fighting over one mattress in a dirty fourth-floor excuse for an apartment. "I don't think so."  
  
"I'm not a little girl," she sniffled. "I'm just as grown up as SHE is." Lucid tossed her head in the direction of the dining room, and 'Roxanne.'  
  
"Nobody's saying you're a little girl." I tried to figure out if I had any hope of making a rational argument at this point. "I'm just saying . . ."  
  
"You're just saying that I'm too young, and I don't know what I want." She dropped the bowl and got to her feet. "I'll show you!" She tugged her sweater off over her head.  
  
My first impression: she is so too young, and too bony. I could count ribs, if I cared. The swirls of green from her face extended down her neck, under her bra, and met another green design around her navel. (Don't tell me I've got a double standard. Just because you can see my ribs, doesn't mean that it looks good to me on someone else.)  
  
"That's enough." I used my best drill-instructor voice. "Put the shirt back."  
  
"No!" They could probably hear us from the dining room. 'Roxanne' was going to check in any minute. X-5s have good hearing.  
  
"You! Shirt. Wear it!" I snarled. I wondered exactly what I'd done to deserve this. I'd heard about karma. Maybe transgenics weren't exempt, after all.  
  
"I actually think she looks fine," said a voice from just outside the open back door. He stepped inside, preceded by a large chrome-plated handgun, with the safety off. His two friends followed. They all shared a common fashion theme: firearms, and navy-blue ski masks.  
  
"Where's the cash?" asked the leader calmly, as he scanned the kitchen.   
  
Something caught his eye. I turned to look. 'Roxanne' and Mitzi were standing in the doorway. 


	19. Hand to Hand

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: Hand to hand.  
  
Even with Roxanne's smile firmly in place I was feeling a little vindictive toward 'Jack.' After all, he'd been the one to go all noble and rescue radioactive glow girl. So when his voice cut through all the other sounds around me, demanding that someone wear her shirt I took my time on my way to the kitchen. It was unlikely that he was in any real physical danger from an emaciated teenaged girl.   
  
I shoved at the swinging door, Mitzi behind me. Scene: three men, three ski masks, three loaded guns.   
  
In terms of physical danger, that gun might present a problem. The two of us were good but Superman still had us beat in the bullet repellent category. The front man was scanning the kitchen for cash. I looked at 'Jack' and we raised our hands in the air, I, dropping my tray in the process. "I-I open the safe." I said letting Roxie's southern drawl quiver.   
  
Mitzi started forward and the front man squared off against her. She froze doing a remarkably accurate impression of a deer in headlights. "You don't know the combination Roxie." She said quietly.   
  
The gunmen glared at me. "I do so." I said, silently begging Mitzi not to argue. I needed control and I needed it now.   
  
It's hard to walk in a non-threatening way when you've been trained as every kind of assassin. But I managed it, shuffling slowly to the row of hanging frying pans that concealed the little safe. I shoved the fried egg encrusted pans aside to reveal the door set with a combination lock.   
  
Under the pretense of watching the gunmen my eyes never left 'Jack'. Above his head, his hands spasmed in frightened motions. Only to my eyes they were words and phrases.   
I turned to the safe, leaning in to catch the sound of tumblers falling into place. Zero. Rumble. 14. Thunk. 34. I spun it one more time and pulled on the handle. The metal groaned and strained but the door stayed firmly shut. I shot a panic- stricken look at the nearest masked man and adjusted the dial. It was still locked tight. The whites of my eyes were showing when I looked back.   
  
Two of the gunmen were fully focused on me now. The third was still watching the others, especially a topless Lucid. "It sticks." Mitzi offered feebly.   
  
With an angry utterance the nearest gunman approached me, gun lowered a little. Closer. Closer. He prodded me out of his way casually with the barrel of his gun to my abdomen. For a moment I froze, really feeling the panic of Roxie's bloodless face.   
  
But then his hand was reaching for the safe and my training took over. The gun was nearest to me, in his right hand. I used the natural bend of his wrist to turn it to his chest. Now that his grip was weakened to wrenched the barrel down with my other hand and the gun came away in my hand. At the same moment 'Jack' prodded Lucid savagely with his heel toward his overseer. "Like her?" He asked. "Take her."   
  
Distracted by the tangle of lanky limbs propelled in his direction, the man had lost his gun before he knew 'Jack' was on him. Immediately a shot was fired. I watched in slow motion as the bullet struck, just wide of my shoulder. I had my gunmen to thank for that his partner missed wide in fear of hitting him.   
  
I raised my gun as the man took aim again. But neither of us fired. A bullet ripped through the man's torso. Red blossomed under his gun arm spreading like some beautiful deadly flower. He faltered. Another bullet embedded itself in the back of his shoulder and the gun fell to the floor. The blood spread more slowly from this wound.   
  
I took the opportunity to introduce my gunman to the butt of his own gun and he slumped unconscious to the floor. I dropped the gun then. Not out of horror for my violence. I had never done that kind of thing, not even at six. Somehow my hands were roving over my stomach even though I was sure I hadn't been hit. 


	20. By the book

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: By the book.  
  
My pistol tracked the man all the way to the ground. I was trained to make sure that I finish the job, always. Two shots had done this particular job.  
  
I scanned the room. Lucid was getting up off the inert (but still breathing) body of the thief who carried in the Glock that I was holding. The apparent leader was leaking blood, and his shiny pistol was a safe distance away, on the floor. The masked man next to Roxanne was also on the floor. I'm not sure if he was still breathing. Training was keeping me on track, for the moment. The next question to ask was "Are there any more hostiles in the area?" followed by "What is the route of escape?"  
  
The door into the dining room was now blocked by two large customers. They sized up the situation. One turned to speak to someone behind him. "Call the police, Fred."  
  
I wasn't listening any more. She was standing in front the steel door of one of the refrigerators, with her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes focused somewhere in the distance. She was very good at acting. Maybe she had decided that gunfire would panic 'Roxanne.'  
  
Trouble was, she had me fooled. I wanted to pick her up, and carry her away to someplace safe. (I didn't really have a good idea where that would be for a couple of runaway transgenics.) I dropped the pistol, and was across the kitchen before I'd really thought things out.  
  
The other problem was, I didn't always know how she would react to physical contact. The last time I really startled her, she'd broken bones. Nobody ever called me stupid twice. I was just as careful with human weapons as I was with guns.   
  
"Elle," I whispered. I dragged a fingertip down her arm, and expected more violence. "Talk to me."  
  
Her eyes focused on me, and she shook herself. "No names. We're not in a secure area."  
  
"Are we ever? Are you okay?" I couldn't make myself get louder than a whisper.  
  
"Yeah, fine." I'd seen her look less rattled after waking up from screaming nightmares. The sound of sirens from the street wasn't helping.  
  
"Are you going to say that so I'll believe it?"   
  
Red and blue lights flickered in from the door, followed by two police officers and assorted hardware. We put our hands up, just to make sure there was no confusion.  
  
Lucid screamed "You aren't taking me home!" She crouched to reach for her sweater, but stood up when one of the shot guns swung towards her.  
  
Two more officers, male and female, entered from the dining room. The older, rounder one took charge. "He waits in the car," he said, pointing at me. "Fran, get a statement from the waitresses."  
  
So, I got an armed escort to the back seat of a locked squad car. No handcuffs, no Miranda rights. I could hear my heartbeat echoing off the interior.  
  
I could see in to the kitchen through the open back door. The female officer was asking lots of questions. Mitzi did lots of hand-waving. 'Roxanne' answered in short sentences, and kept making nervous glances in my direction.  
  
A police van showed up a few minutes later, and the three would-be robbers got carried by. Then, the van went away.  
  
At some point, the last of the adrenaline from the gunfight had worn off, and I got to watch my hands shake. I tried to make myself relax. "Visualize the proper cleaning procedure for an AR-15," I ordered myself.  
  
It was a nice try, but I couldn't take my eyes off the door.  
  
The car door opened, and I turned to see the glint of a badge and light reflecting on a silver-gray brush cut. I read "Fitzkowski" off his jacket as he settled himself into the seat next to me.  
  
"You know, when I first joined the force, we would have hauled you in. You'd wait in jail until Monday morning, when the judge would try and figure out whether or not you were going to be charged with anything." He sighed.  
  
"I'm in trouble, right?" I didn't really know why I was asking. I could imagine Lydecker chewing me out . According to Manticore standards, the first shot should have been mine. Except, I shouldn't have fired at all, as far as the law and the real world were concerned.  
  
"It's not that simple, kid. We know those guys, and you saved the taxpayers some money. We are going to be really happy to have two of them behind bars, and no one is going to miss the other."  
  
"He's dead."   
  
"Exactly."  
  
"I shot him."  
  
"You also kept him from shooting any of the ladies." His expression had turned sympathetic, for a moment.  
  
I kept quiet. 'Roxie' was alive. They could do whatever they wanted with me, as long as she got away.  
  
"But, the real reason we can't touch you is the other one," he continued.  
  
"Lucid? What is going to happen to her?" Not that I really cared, but having the subject off me was a nice change.  
  
"You mean Miss Lucy Themb. Her father is the chief of police." Fitzkowski snorted.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You are going to take your young lady home. I get to escort Lucy back to her family." He winced. "Everyone else will help Mitzi herd the customers out and lock up."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
"I don't want to see you mixed up in this sort of thing again, young man." He pulled something out of his pocket, and pushed a button. The door on my side of the car unlocked.  
  
"Trust me, you won't!" I climbed out of the car, and went inside to get 'Roxanne.'  
  
She was waiting for me, just inside the kitchen door. She looked pale against the green splotches of her coat, but her eyes were tracking me. I decided that I could make myself believe she was okay.  
Author's note:  
How does anyone come up with names that don't belong to anyone but don't sound hopelessly strange? 


	21. Bad Press

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: 21. Bad Press  
  
At a loss for what to do if they arrested him, I stood at the door, watching the cop car and assessing my options. A low hum just broke the thresh hold of hearing. It was like a distant swarm of bees. I looked up to see a small army of machines whirling my way. Hover drones.   
  
I ducked back in the kitchen. What a day, he'd let my name slip and now it was likely that someone got a snapshot of my face. But as quickly as it had risen the sound receded. I peered around the door frame to see the drones whirring off after Lucid of all people. Flashes lasting milliseconds lit the girl up in the manner of a strobe light to my vision. She looked positively terrified.  
  
A car door slammed, he was walking my way. I didn't move from the doorway, willing him not to turn around. Press was the last thing we needed. I forced my features to be blank. As long I looked okay then I could believe I was. "How's Mitzi?" He asked.   
  
"Getting everyone calmed down." I pulled him inside. "There's police surveillance everywhere."  
  
"I know. All around Lucid. She's the police chief's daughter." He pulled my jacket tighter but I didn't need it not with the second jolt of adrenaline I'd just received.  
  
"We should leave before they decide to come in here."  
  
"What if she talks?" We were already making our way to the front door just talking loud enough for the other to hear. "She knows what we look like and where you work. Even if her daddy just wanted to say 'thank you' could be trouble."  
  
A gust of wind blew creating an unpleasant draft up my skirt. Flashing lights could still be seen between buildings. There was nothing we could do. "What story did you tell Fran?"  
  
The female cop had questioned Mitzi and I. The process seemed quite routine and the female cop seemed half interested except in answers that concerned Lucid. "The truth more or less. I offered to feed the kid, she followed me home. Next thing we knew we were being held up. 'It jus' all happened so fast. I mean, my gosh, I hardly had a minute to think'" I drawled, quoting Roxanne. "I was jus' shakin' in my shoes!" My smile was lost on him.  
  
"Elle-"  
  
"Will you stop that!" I stepped away from him, putting space between him so he'd have to raise his voice. "I'm fine I was playing a part."  
  
"Roxanne was scared." He admitted. "But so were you. They were unorganized, untrained…"  
  
"So I froze!" I was really yelling now, though the effect was lessened somewhat by a barking dog. "It happens."  
  
"Not to you."  
  
"That was before."   
  
We rounded a corner and without warning he shoved me into a side street. I put out my hands to brace myself just as he grabbed me to stop me from running into the brick face of a building. I rounded on him, furious. "Those cameras might have seen the back of my head, how 'bout you?" Whatever I had been about to say fled from my mind.   
  
"One might have seen my face, I can't be sure."  
  
"We're being followed." 


	22. A childhood lesson

Author: Chippewa Livingston  
Archive: Please ask  
Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment: 22. A childhood lesson  
  
She leaned against the bricks and pressed her hands against her face, then stuffed them back in her coat pockets. "Is this what the real world is supposed to be like?"   
  
"I don't know. Look, it's just one guy. We can handle this." I tried to remember what I'd learned in the classroom. A dozen eight-year olds, listening to a uniformed instructor describe how to identify and neutralize a 'tail'. "If your mission will permit it, you can divide the team. This will require him or her to make a decision. . ."  
  
"Like you handled Lucid?" Her whisper was icy.  
  
"I'm sorry about that. I should have let the little twit get her butt kicked. Daddy could have picked up his little girl at the hospital."  
  
Her lip twitched as if I'd slapped her, and she looked away.  
  
"Did I just say the wrong thing again?" This was almost getting to be a habit with me. I didn't like it.  
  
She faced the wall.  
  
"I want us to split up. The guy can only follow one of us at a time." I watched her relax a little, but she didn't turn around. "You head home. If he follows you, I deal with him." I wasn't quite sure how, but I knew that I'd find an opportunity.  
  
"What if he follows you?"  
  
"I'll loose him." If trickery didn't do the job, there was always ju-jitsu, or maybe running away. "You don't have to do any more acting. Be scared, be mad, it doesn't matter."  
  
"So, I'm bait." She stood up a little straighter. "Here goes little helpless Roxanne." She padded silently out of the alley without looking back at me.  
  
I hid in the darkness of the alley, and watched our (now Roxanne's) 'tail'. Once he was a safe distance away, I became his shadow. His dark knit cap was a bit unusual compared to the small groups of people moving from bar to bar on Friday evening.  
  
He followed the shape of 'Roxanne' and her camouflage coat for another block, then took a left towards the center of town. A few blocks later, he pulled out a cell phone. One of the police hover drones floated over his head for a few seconds. He looked up at it, and I got a quick look at his face in the spotlight before the drone glided away.  
  
A large, dark sedan pulled up next to a "No Parking" sign, and the man got in.  
  
No one followed me home. The hover drones stayed with crowds, like dogs hoping for scraps.   
  
No one saw me go up the fire escape.  
  
She was sitting in the dark. "Report!" came her voice from a shadowed corner of the room.  
  
"You were being followed by a male Caucasian, estimate in his forties." I closed the window behind me, and set the tin can full of pennies on the frame. Cheap burglar alarm. "I'd say he was totally average, except he handled himself like a professional. In fact, I think he figured out that we noticed him. When the crowd thinned out on 4th street, he ended pursuit, made a phone call, and got his pick-up."  
  
"What do you think?" she whispered.  
  
"Worst case?" I sat down in the mangy office chair and started unlacing my boots. "He knows enough about us to know who to call."  
  
"If so, we can expect more of them. Followed by Lydecker and Sandoval, with a complete collection of meatballs in black body armor."  
  
"Do you think we can stay hidden? It's probably easier for them to just check all the busses heading out of town. I wouldn't want to do a house to house search in this neighborhood." I looked down at my feet. This pair of socks had holes in it. I was out in the real world now. I couldn't just go ask for another pair. Things were much more complicated than that now.  
  
"This sucks," she whispered. "I hate Roxanne, I hate her job, but it's a steady paycheck. Best I can hope for, anyway."  
  
I wanted to say her real name. I wanted to tell her that we could be safe. I wished I could believe that myself.  
  
You stupid transgenic, she's already mad at you. Keep quiet. 


	23. Mission briefing

Author: Chippewa Livingston Archive: Please ask Disclaimer: I claim no affiliation or ownership of characters or material related to Dark Angel.  
  
23. Mission briefing  
  
I heard the chair's wheels squealing as he got up, and kicked his boots under the table. His profile was dark against the window for a moment, and I heard the bathroom door close, and water running.  
  
I needed to understand why I was angry.  
  
Sure, I was tired. I understood that. I had been on my feet all day, then fighting, and more running. My 'new' camouflage coat was still wrapped around me. I had been too tired to take it off.  
  
I tried to remember when I'd tipped over from annoyed to angry.  
  
****  
  
"I'm sorry about that. I should have let the little twit get her butt kicked. Daddy could have picked up his little girl at the hospital," he said. His whisper was rough, and bitter. He glanced back towards the street, and whatever was following us.  
  
For some stupid reason, I imagined Lucid surrounded by the technical tangle of life-support equipment and surgeons in green scrubs. Trying to put a broken toy back together. How could he be so casual about that kid getting hurt?  
  
"Did I just say the wrong thing again?" Even in the dim light, I could tell his eyes were fixed on me.  
  
My stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. I'm not supposed to be like this. I'm supposed to get my ass kicked once a day, and come back for twice on Sunday. I turned my back on him. I didn't know what my face was doing.  
  
"I want us to split up. The guy can only follow one of us at a time."  
  
Pull yourself together, girl. He's talking sense.  
  
****  
  
I briefly considered curling up right here in the corner and going to sleep.  
  
Instead, I left my sneakers in the corner, hung my jacket on the back of one of the chairs, and turned on the light. The apartment depressed me even more than it had when I left that morning. I could map out where pictures had been hung. There were light squares of clean wall surrounded by dirty beige. Maybe the carpet had a color, once, a long time ago.  
  
"What are you thinking?" he asked. I turned to look at him. He stood in the doorway of the little bathroom.  
  
The first thing that popped into my mind was "What are we going to do with a kid?"  
  
He didn't say anything for a moment. "I don't know. I've just been telling myself it's another assignment."  
  
"We can't even keep ourselves out of trouble!" I protested.  
  
"We're still alive. Isn't that enough?" He folded his arms across his bare chest. No, it isn't. I could still see scars from old fights. I knew who had made most of those marks on him. They were fading from pink to white, and would be gone in a few more months. I didn't think I'd forget his pain, even if he seemed to have let it drift out of his mind.  
  
"Do you really want to subject a kid to this?" I gestured towards the filthy carpet.  
  
"So we get rid of the rug, and re-paint."  
  
"Not just the apartment. Everything." If a full-grown transgenic didn't have a chance, how could Lucid? How long would eight pounds of infant last, out here--, outside the fence? Something that couldn't even hold up its own head.  
  
"Lots of people seem to be able to get by." I watched his bare feet cross the floor, and felt his finger slide across my cheek. "If the kid turns out anything like you, he or she will do considerably better than *get by*."  
  
"I don't want a kid like me!" I snarled. "I don't want my baby learning to say 'Sir' before. . ."  
  
"Easy," he whispered. "I only know how I grew up, but I'm pretty sure there are other ways to raise kids. We'll find out."  
  
"I've never done this before."  
  
"Well, it is a pretty strange assignment. And we haven't been properly briefed." His smile was the one that usually means he's amused. "The really odd thing -- I think what we are doing is totally legal."  
  
"That IS new."  
  
"I think we've had enough for one day." He put an arm around my shoulders. "Are you coming to bed?"  
  
"Yeah." Fatigue had soaked into me like used motor oil. I wanted today to be over.  
  
End Episode One.  
  
An Unauthorized Genetic Experiment, Episode Two will be coming soon! 


End file.
